


concessions

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Body Swap, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Time Skip, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sylvix Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-14 06:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: "...as if conceding that one could not live without the other."a sylvix week 2019 collection* Day 1 [Childhood]: brother - The echoes of childhood haunt the mission at Conand Tower.* Day 2 [Soulmates/Dreams]: mirage - Sylvain dreams and dreams of dark hair and a shining blade.* Day 3 [Fairytales]: escape fantasy - It's more than just a quiet beach to a frustrated merman and a smiling noble.* Day 4 [Roomates/Body Swap]: in your head (in my heart) - Sylvain only wishes this were a nightmare Dorothea's cursed him with.* Day 5 [Tears]: downpour - Five times Sylvain makes Felix cry.* Day 6 [Firsts]: rewind - The witch in the forest is Sylvain's last hope to save Felix's life.* Day 7 [Forbidden Love]: edge of sea and sky - Sylvain loathed the port town of Gautier and feared the sea beyond it.* Day 8 [Free Day (Hanahaki)]: petals of tsubaki - Felix once had Hanahaki. Key word,once.





	1. brother

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time participating in a challenge/week, please treat me gently. i hope i make it through every prompt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relevant tags: Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Timeskip Blue Lions Route, Pre-Relationship

Sylvain is uncharacteristically sullen on the return march from Conand Tower. 

Felix doesn’t intend to pay him any mind. It doesn’t feel right, exactly, to leave Sylvain to his own thoughts after what they’ve just done, but Felix has never been good with words or comforting, and it’s probably best if he left it at that. Ingrid or the boar are better served offering words of solace than he is.

The whole mission is unpleasant, from the dreary weather weighing down their clothing with rain, to the thieves’ ambush in the tower, to seeing the horrid transformation of man into monster. Even just seeing Miklan again after so many years leaves a bad taste, his face scarred and expression twisted and crueler than ever. 

With their task complete, tension lingers in the air and Felix is left with the uncomfortable sense that something had changed in that moment where Sylvain’s lance had pierced through the Gautier crest on the Black Beast’s head and left Miklan’s broken body and a grotesquely shuddering Lance of Ruin in its wake. The Professor carries the weapon across her back and quietly nods along as the boar prince chatters along beside her.

It’s unsurprising that Sylvain approaches Felix as they leave the tower, throwing his arm across Felix’s shoulders. Felix can feel Sylvain’s weight dig in more heavily than usual, almost enough to be painful. Sylvain knows that Felix doesn’t like being touched, so he shrugs off the arm, as is usual, and expects Sylvain to keep up and talk his ear off on the walk back. 

Sylvain doesn’t follow, instead shuffling quietly to the rear. 

Felix spares him an odd look over the shoulder but doesn’t slow to let him catch up. If Sylvain wants to talk to him, he’ll do it anyway. He always has.

The walk is a quiet slog back across Faerghus, lead by the Professor and the faint, colorless wriggling of the Lance of Ruin. Ingrid falls back at one point, but Sylvain must have nothing to say because she catches up to Ashe again after only a few minutes.

It’s only as they’re approaching Garreg Mach many hours later that the Professor waves Dimitri ahead and pauses until Felix catches up to her. He stops when she lightly grabs his arm as he passes. She meets Felix’s eyes before looking back meaningfully toward where Sylvain is moping along behind everyone else and nodding her head in his direction.

Felix stares at her in mildly disgusted disbelief. She better not mean he thinks she does. She looks impassively back before crossing her arms and quietly pursing her lips. Felix is the first to break the eye contact. He lets out an irritated _ tch _ before turning heel and stalking toward the rear of their group. The Professor turns the other direction back toward the monastery as he stomps off with a huff.

Sylvain looks up as Felix stops in front of him, eyes wide and suspiciously red. It takes a moment, but Sylvain plasters on a weak smile. Annoying and fake.

Felix jerks his head toward the monastery. “Stop dawdling.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sylvain’s flimsy excuse for a smile twists bitterly and he laughs humorlessly. “What am I even upset about? Miklan was a horrible person. A shitty excuse for a brother. Not worth dwelling on.”

They follow the rest of the class silently for a couple minutes before Sylvain speaks up again, quieter and more unsure than before. “I just… He was still my brother, you know? And I… we… his blood’s on my hands now. That beast… I’ve been trying to get the image out of my head.”

Felix grunts. “He was your brother.”

Sylvain’s head drops. “Yeah. He was.” 

Felix waits for Sylvain to continue, but he’s quiet, still lost in his own thoughts. There’s a swell of irritation at Sylvain’s unusual silence, but. Sylvain did just kill his brother, shitbag though he may have been. Felix’s not insensitive enough to rub it in unnecessarily. 

It’s as they’re passing the gates into the monastery that Sylvain finally speaks up again.

“All this for the stupid Lance. I never even wanted it, and now… Miklan’s dead because he _ did_.” Sylvain scoffs. “Would have been better if he’d been born with the Crest.”

Felix tosses Sylain a questioning glance. “But if he had been born with a Crest…”

“Yeah.” Sylvain agrees. “I probably wouldn’t have been born. …Can’t say I’ve never thought about it before. Maybe it would have been for the better.”

Felix wants to punch Sylvain. Knock the nonsense out of him. Fight him until he can’t think about Miklan or the Lance anymore and stops weighing himself against the fragmented shards of his childhood. 

But he can’t do that. Not right now. It might work for Felix, but not for Sylvain.

Felix struggles to find the right words. “You can’t change it. And you’re not so annoying that I wish… You’re not terrible. And it’s not your fault.” 

Sylvain laughs quietly, more honestly than before, but still very bluntly tinged with sadness. “I guess you’re right. Too late anyway, right? Might as well live with what we’ve got. I always just...”

Sylvain is about to continue when, ahead, the Professor and Dimitri wave them down to corral the class together to debrief. After a quick word thanking them for their hard work and apologizing for the ugliness of the mission, they’re dismissed back to their rooms.

Felix is eager to change out of his rain-damp clothing and eat before returning to the training hall to practice his forms then heading to bed. Sylvain hovers uncomfortably several paces away and Felix resigns himself to losing his evening. 

Felix turns to his friend and broaches the space between them. “You were still saying something.” 

Sylvain starts slightly, surprised that Felix actually came back to talk to him. A small, relieved grin spreads across his face, like a burden has been unexpectedly lifted from his shoulders. He chews his lower lip slightly, gathering his thoughts as they walk toward the dorms.

“Yeah, uh. I guess I was. I don’t know, I was just thinking… I always wished Miklan could have been more like… like… well, Glenn.”

Felix knows what he means, but the comparison to his dead brother still leaves a disgruntled feeling. Well, he supposes, at least Sylvain isn’t trying to compare Felix to Glenn. He has enough of that between his father and the boar. 

Sylvain continues. “I’m not… I know you don’t like it when people bring up Glenn. I just wish… I always wanted Miklan to… I don’t know, _ care_? Or just… like me. ...Glenn always adored you.”

Sylvain shrugs weakly and leads the way up to the second floor. 

“You remember when Miklan threw me down the well when we were kids? I think that one in particular was one of the worse things that happened. Though… you must have been, what, six at the time?” 

Felix stops in his tracks. “He did _ what_?” 

Sylvain pauses and looks blankly back down at Felix. “Oh. Guess you don’t. You were pretty young... Well, no big deal.”

Felix is frozen in his tracks as Sylvain continues to climb the stairs up to their rooms. Sylvain had been thrown down a well by Miklan? What else had Felix missed? Miklan had always been awful to be around, mean and with a feral, cruel grin, but to try to… kill Sylvain? 

_ Why hadn’t Sylvain ever said anything before? _

By the time Felix snaps back out of his thoughts, Sylvain has long disappeared onto the second floor. Felix thunders the rest of the way up the stairs and hurries down toward the end of the hall. He pushes into Sylvain’s room, door still left ajar, to see the redhead sitting on his bed with his head tilted back against the wall. 

Sylvain turns and blinks up at Felix before another false smile is pasted on. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Sylvain laughs. “I know I’m being weirdly mopey. I’m fine, I promise. I just need a bit.”

Felix grimaces. “You! You… don’t do that.” 

Sylvain tilts his head in confusion. “Don’t do what?”

“That!” Felix snaps. “The stupid fake smile. Miklan was a shitty brother, but he’s dead, and you’ll never get him back. I’m not going to pretend I’m going to grieve him, but you don’t have to pretend that you _ won’t_.”

Felix turns away, feeling color maybe rise in his cheeks. “Just… be yourself, okay? You’re… not so bad. And if you… need anything. You know where to find me.”

Sylvain laughs, loud and with an unfaked joy, for the first time since before the tower. “Sure, Felix. Thanks.” 

Sylvain reaches out and pulls Felix into a crushing hug. Felix squirms uncomfortably, his face _ definitely _ red, but Sylvain only tightens his embrace.

“Really. Thanks, Felix. It really means a lot.”

Felix huffs and raises his arms in an approximation of a hug. “Whatever, dumbass.”


	2. mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain dreams and dreams of dark hair and a shining blade.
> 
> Major spoiler warnings for all routes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant tags: Angst, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreaming, All Route Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Sylvain losing his grip on reality
> 
> \----
> 
> i'm not super satisfied with this, but i tried to merge all three prompts. hopefully it makes some sense.
> 
> this chapter contains route spoilers for all routes, but most prominently Azure Moon and Crimson Flower.

The first time Sylvain dreams of his soulmate, all he remembers when he awakens is dark hair and the sensation of being unnervingly pierced. He wakes suddenly, dream silvery and fleeting until all that’s left are the muddy dregs of a face and a vague sense of longing.

Sylvain is sixteen, young enough to get away with cheeky winks at older women, young enough to still believe in his brother, and young enough to hope that he’ll one day fall in love and live a happily-ever-after. 

Sylvain is sixteen, old enough to know that he’ll dream of a soulmate, sooner or later, old enough to resent that the world doesn’t give him a choice about who he’ll love, and old enough to hate that his parents have taken away the love that his soulmate is supposed to give him.

He doesn’t recognize that it’s a dream about his soulmate until he dreams of dark hair and sharp amber eyes again, almost exactly a month later. 

He dreams of heavy rain, of the eerie glow of an unearthly weapon in his hand, of a quiet, world-weary voice telling him, _ “Sorry, Sylvain. You’ll die first.” _ before his eyes snap open in his dark bedroom to the jagged horror of having been run through by a sword.

Unlike the first dream, this one doesn’t run away like quicksand, and Sylvain is left with the lingering dread that he dreamt of his soulmate killing him. Some soulmate. Some fate. Sylvain sits up in bed and laughs quietly, bitterly, uncontrollably. 

Well. It’s not like it matters. 

His parents have told him in no uncertain terms that he may only marry his fated person if he’s fortunate enough to have a soulmate who’s an appropriate match for their station (heir to a corporate legacy he never wanted, never asked for; the favored younger child only because his brother had never lived up to his parents’ endlessly suffocating expectations, Miklan’s achievements crowned by eloping with his commoner soulmate). His _ duty _ is first to his family, to carry on the family’s name and fortune, to ensure that the legacy continues for at least another generation behind him.

Society pities those who never meet their soulmates, poor lost souls whose fates never quite aligned correctly. Fate isn’t so cruel as to imprint destiny on their skin, only to burn the truth indelibly into hearts and minds. Few ever know of those who marry outside of fate’s recommendation. While generally frowned upon to reject one’s soulmate, high society will never stoop to marrying those of lower station, soulmate or not. 

Sylvain sighs before throwing off his covers and rising to the first light of dawn creeping in through the edges of his curtains. Sleep will only evade him, and while he doesn’t care about school attendance, his parents will force him to rise soon enough anyway.

When he winks at the new maid tidying by the front door - previous one ejected after responding a little too openly to his flirting, to the ire of his parents - he only hopes that his smile isn’t as brittle or empty as it feels, still haunted by eyes brimming with regret but steeled by hopeless resolve. 

Sylvain might have to practice his smile some more for the coming days. He still has some years to perfect it before he’s expected to fully step into his inheritance.

* * *

Sylvain’s dreams are dogged by his (violent? regretful? caring? beloved? harsh?) soulmate. 

They happen at irregular intervals. 

When Sylvain is lucky, he dreams of his soulmate daily (_Felix, he finally learns not long before his eighteenth birthday, after a run of dreams that leave him with a nostalgia for a shared childhood and many years of camaraderie_). Or maybe when he’s cursed, since Felix’s name only ensures his parents’ disapproval (love is meaningless in the face of his duty to his family’s legacy). 

The plains (_Tailtean Plains, awash with war and drowning in the blood of countless soldiers once more, and Gronder Field, burning with nostalgia and ringing with the cries of classmate fighting classmate_) are recurring features of the dreams, leaving the ache of long-lost memories and jumbled lifetimes spent together and apart. In some dreams, Sylvain is the one left standing, tears washing away the blood the Lance of Ruin spills.

In the most pleasant dreams, a young Sylvain and Felix chase each other through childhood, peals of laughter ringing bright, with quiet afternoons spent dozing together in secluded glens, no thoughts spared to wars or duties.

There are countless dreams in sharp relief set in a church (_Garreg Mach Monastery, year 1180, then again for the millennium festival_) with cruel barbs taunted in training grounds and teasing, flirting ones echoing through classrooms and a homey mess hall. Black and white uniforms with gold trim, and blue, red, yellow banners. In some dreams, they sit side by side. In others, they dodge each other uncomfortably, unable to reconcile that the other has abandoned their home (_Faerghus, their friends_). 

There’s a spell of four months without a single dream of Felix where Sylvain begins to wonder if maybe he’s missed his chance. Though he could never admit it aloud, Sylvain fears in those months that he’s become one of the people who will never meet their soulmate, time together tragically cut to nothing by the inevitability of death. Sylvain almost fears falling asleep, anxiety building that he may never see Felix again. 

When Sylvain finally dreams of Felix again, he wakes to desperate promises to be together until they die, to gentle, tentative kisses standing atop a tower. _ “Do you remember our promise, Felix?” _Sylvain whispers the words to himself in the darkened silence of his room and wishes he could fall back into dreams.

In the rarest dreams, Sylvain and Felix stand together with another man (_their childhood friend, their boar prince, their king, Dimitri_) and a woman (_steadfast, stalwart Ingrid, angry and beautiful_) overlooking a brighter future, guided by a kind, quiet hand (_Professor, Byleth, Archbishop_). They grow old together in a land that remembers them for their righteousness and for gentle reforms that lead to a brighter future. 

Felix’s embarrassed blush and hidden smile burn themselves into the insides of Sylvain’s eyelids until he sees them with every blink.

* * *

Almost inevitably when he reaches eighteen, his parents begin to question whether he’s ever dreamt of his soulmate. Sylvain equivocates for as long as possible (there’s no point in mentioning Felix, his Felix, not when his parents would never approve), until his parents’ very short patience is worn and they drop the pretense of caring at all. 

The arranged dates with girls from affluent families are all unequivocal disasters. Sylvain turns the charm up as high as he can, but his heart isn’t in any of them (it never was, always cursed, blessed to belong to a face in his dreams). The girls are pretty and empty, never deep or passionate, too eager to agree with him and unwilling to speak out when Sylvain purposely makes lewd passes. Sylvain wonders what their dreams are like, if their love is as empty as they are.

Sylvain is shipped off to school, set along his path that begins at Garreg Mach University (it’s wrong, so wrong, it should be a monastery, where is the cathedral?). Even away from home, the planned dates don’t stop, and for every girl he turns away in tears with cruel, lascivious jokes, two more spring up in their place. 

The dreams dog Sylvain almost every night and far too many waking moments to count. 

Felix, young and laughing. Felix, teenaged and prickly. Felix, face thin and exhausted from war. Felix, sarcastic but warm, surrounded by all their friends. Felix, alone on the battlefield, drenched in blood. 

Felix, horrified to see Sylvain again after five years, Gronder in flames behind him. Felix, cutting Sylvain down without a backward glance through the rain. Felix, dead at Sylvain’s feet in the bright sun over Arianrhod. 

Felix, held tight in his embrace at Enbarr, finally at peace, as they drown together in feverish, overdue kisses.

* * *

At twenty-two, on the cusp of stepping into the life his parents have planned for him, Sylvain frantically searches for Felix in every face. Maybe if they find each other, Sylvain can find the strength to say no, to turn away from this loveless path. 

Fate has cursed and blessed him with dreams, and Sylvain’s running out of time to find his soulmate before it won’t matter anyway.

(He hopes that Felix is searching for him too. It’s too much to bear to think Sylvain is the only one distraught over dreams and a face that’s been only just out of reach for too long.)

The days fragment into each other as he races against time, and then they screech to a halt.

Sylvain is reaching listlessly for his morning coffee before he heads to another droll business class (he’s never cared, but it’s never mattered, he’s managed to succeed anyway), when an irritated voice cuts through. 

“It’s you.” 

Sylvain freezes in shock. He knows that voice. It’s haunted his dreams for six years.

“Felix.” Sylvain breathes, dreams (memories?) rushing forward into a kaleidoscope of emotion that threatens to bring him to his knees. They’ll have to settle for the choked sob that forces its way out of his throat. “I’ve been waiting so long for you.” 

Felix looks away, cheeks tinged, and offers Sylvain the coffee again. His voice is also suspiciously wobbly. “Take the coffee, dumbass.”

Sylvain takes the drink, then takes Felix’s hand in his other. (He curses the counter separating them, keeping him from finally holding Felix close after too many years apart.) “I’ll keep our promise, okay? Do you remember it?”

Felix offers him that small, hidden smile and a quick, blushing glance. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Sylvain bursts out laughing and finds that he can’t stop.


	3. escape fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's more than just a quiet beach to a frustrated merman and a smiling noble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant tags: Fluff, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Swearing, Language Barriers, Kissing, gratuitous use of strikethrough
> 
> \---
> 
> this was supposed to be a funny, cute Little Mermaid AU and then it got slightly melancholic because i'm me.
> 
> there's a lot more to this AU, so hopefully one day i'll come back to flesh it out and actually have a plot.
> 
> **update**: added a bit of sylvain's perspective in Day 7 (edge of sea and sky), so please also check that out if you like this chapter!

Felix twitches his tail irritably and iridescent navy scales shimmer as the sun’s light scatters off them. He’s been waiting a good half-hour for an idiot human <strike> his idiot human </strike> to show up, and his skin’s starting to dry out. If he sits there any longer, he’ll probably start to burn from being above the water’s surface for so long, and _ that _ will open a whole host of questions from his father, Ingrid, and Dimitri that he doesn’t want to deal with. 

It’s not like they’d really planned to meet, but it’s become something of a weekly song and dance to swim up to the surface to get away from the Kingdom for a few hours only to have this particular dumb redhead spot him from the beach, wade out too far, and then need Felix to grumpily haul him back to shore when he slips under the current.

Felix is pretty sure dumbass is doing it on purpose by this point. He’s almost certain he saw redhead-dunce swimming just fine with some other humans on an off-day where Felix had been swimming further out and hadn’t been spotted.

(Felix also wonders at how he’s never heard idiot-man’s actual name. They’ve been acting out this weird play for months now, though Felix supposes that whenever it’s the two of them, asshole’s always been unconscious. Ugh. Insensitive prick. <strike> He’s lucky his face is so pretty</strike><strike>.</strike>)

This is the first time that Felix has arrived before the human. He’s definitely won’t ever admit it out loud, but it’s kind of nice to get to the surface and see this one weirdo perk up like an excitable dolphin calf whose owner has just come home after a long time away. His beatific smile lights up the entire beach, at least until he purposely walks too far into the water and Felix has to dive for him, _ again_.

Fiery hair finally emerges from the tree-line, and relief sweeps through Felix <strike> wait no, what the fuck, he’s not worried about this fucker, why would he be worried just because he’s late </strike>. He dives off the rock he’s been sunning himself on and swims closer to the shore. The whole almost-drowning shtick is fucking stupid and he’d like to preempt it, thanks. 

Felix stops just shy of the beach, not risking the chance of getting stuck where he doesn’t want to be, because he’s not a ridiculous fool unlike _ some people _ here. 

The handsome moron wades out but stops where the water doesn’t quite reach his waist (why does he have to be so tall, Felix really doesn’t appreciate craning his head up), only a body’s-length away, beaming at Felix. 

He says something in garbled human-speak before winking at Felix, flirtatious tone blatant and overbearing. When Felix stares at him, completely unmoved, he frowns slightly, head tilting pensively as he mutters something else in the ugly human language. The human points to his own face and says loudly and slowly, “Sylvain.” 

Felix’s mouth forms oddly around the name as he repeats it back, stumbling over the consonants. The human word is uncomfortable on Felix’s tongue, more used to the clicks and chirps that carry better through water. 

The fucker <strike> Sylvain </strike> has the nerve to laugh at him, and Felix can feel a vein twitch in his forehead before he slaps the water with his tail, dousing them both. 

Sylvain gasps as he’s drenched. He rapidly blinks the saltwater out of his eyes as he wipes down his face and pushes back the hair from his face, his white shirt and rolled-up brown pants clinging artfully to sculpted muscles.

Fuck, it’s unfair how attractive this stupid human is.

Sylvain helplessly assesses how wet all of his clothing is before shrugging and wading further in toward Felix. As he reaches out a hand, Felix lurches back, baring his teeth and growling. He hasn’t liked anyone touching him since Glenn’s death, and he’s not about to start with some shitty, dumbass, attractive human. 

Sylvain stops and turns his hand palm-up. An offer for touch, not a request.

Felix squints suspiciously at it before slowly raising his own slightly-webbed hand and placing it in Sylvain’s. The unbridled joy on Sylvain’s face is worth it. Sylvain interlaces their fingers together and tugs lightly to reel Felix in, water rippling out lazily around them. 

Felix looks away over Sylvain’s shoulder, the brightness of his expression blinding and embarrassing. Mimicking the human’s introduction, Felix gestures at himself with his spare hand. “Felix.” 

Sylvain purrs his name back at him, expression warm and affectionate, setting Felix’s face on fire unfair, _ unfair,_ how come Sylvain got it right the first time. 

Felix lets himself bask in the glow of Sylvain’s attention, wholly focused on him, very much conscious for once. 

* * *

Felix speeds up as he enters the kelp forest. Ingrid’s persistent and Dimitri’s strong, but he’s got better stamina than the former and he's faster than the latter and he can lose them in here. They’re also incredibly easy to spot at a distance, Ingrid’s sleek, silvery tail a beacon of light even this far from the water’s surface, and Dimitri’s own bright royal blue unmissable, a sign of his lineage. 

They never fucking listen when he tells them to leave him alone. 

(And then there’s the old man, who never even wants to talk to him anyway when it’s not a lecture, not when Glenn was still alive, and not now. Especially not now, not when he’s too busy tending after Dimitri to remember his own fucking son. Dimitri isn’t old enough to officially ascend the throne for a number of moons, and Felix’s old man considers himself duty-bound to look after Dimitri, never mind that the prince already _ has _ a nanny in the form of Dedue.)

He doesn’t need or want to hang around for boring procedural crap during court, and he _ definitely _ doesn’t need to answer their questions on where he goes for one afternoon every week. He’s been dodging answering those questions for almost four moons, and today is not the day he’s going to cave.

“Felix! Stop running away!” Ingrid calls out from not-far-enough-away behind him. 

Felix grits his teeth and veers hard left. It won’t be enough to lose her, but anything to confuse her and put her off his tracks will help.

Apparently, though, Felix is getting predictable in his evasion tactics, because he barrels head-first into Dedue’s chest. He hadn’t even heard or filter the dark-tailed, silent retainer approaching, though he might honestly have been hiding in wait nearby from the beginning. Felix can sense Ingrid approaching from behind and Dimitri from his right through the water’s movements and knows he’s trapped.

Fuck, his forehead hurts. At least, a small part of him rationalizes, Dedue will get a large matching bruise.

Ingrid jabs him in the midriff with the blunt end of her spear as she comes around from behind him. Felix glowers at her. Bitch.

Dimitri approaches more diplomatically. “Felix, please, we’re only worried about you. You disappear for longer every week. What would we do if you just didn’t come home one day?”

Shit. Has he been staying with Sylvain for longer lately? The way the sun tracks across the sky makes time feel different at the surface and he’s been leaving as the sky begins to tinge pink as night approaches.

“It’s none of your fucking business.” Felix snarls, not for the first (or last) time.

Dedue throws a half-hearted glare at Felix for his rudeness (they’ve done this enough times that he doesn’t consider Felix a real threat to Dimitri, but he still doesn’t appreciate the vulgar language or harsh tone directed at the prince).

Ingrid offers a different option. “Let us go with you! We just want to make sure you’re safe, so just show us where you’re going and we’ll let you be.” 

Un-fucking-likely. Ingrid will kill Sylvain on sight, then report Felix to the court for cavorting with humans. Relations with humans have never been especially warm, but they’ve been downright murderous and frigid since the tragedy four years previous. A few of the more brazenly cruel merpeople have taken to wearing human bones on jewelry as trophies. 

“No.” 

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Well, then you can come back with us. We’re not letting you run away this week.”

Felix briefly panics. What will Sylvain think if he never shows up to their beach? They’ve seen each other with an unspoken promise to meet every week for longer than the four moons that he’s been noticed missing in Dimitri and Ingrid. Sylvain had promised to bring him more human trinkets he could learn the words for. 

Felix attempts to push past Ingrid but Dimitri grabs his arm in a bruising grip. Felix rips his arm away but giving up the attempt to evade the trio surrounding him, sparing a glance down at what will probably be finger-shaped marks. Ridiculous that Dimitri, almost of age, still doesn’t have a clue how to moderate his own strength.

He glares at his friends. They stare back impassively and give him no out.

Felix sighs, resigned. “_ Fine _. Let’s go home.”

He’ll do a better job of losing his babysitters next week.

* * *

When Felix finally breaks the water’s surface, he spots Sylvain muttering to himself and pacing along the water’s edge. Felix’s heart clenches at the sight. He hadn’t _ meant _ to leave Sylvain alone the previous week, but he hadn’t been given a choice. Ingrid had hauled him home, only for his father to start lecturing him about proper behavior in court and the expectations he would have as the future king’s right hand. 

This week, Ingrid is off training with the other future elite knights of the king’s guard while Dimitri attends some diplomatic meeting with the leader of a more feral mertribe who wants more fishing rights in water further south. Small mercies. 

The tension in Sylvain’s shoulders collapses as he spots Felix’s approach toward the beach, easy smile replacing the furrowed brow. He steps into the water to help pull Felix onto the beach, hands fitting neatly into Felix’s own. 

(Felix had finally relented about sitting on the beach when, several meetings after that first one when they had finally exchanged names, he had realized that staying in the water for so long made Sylvain shiver uncontrollably as he tried to accommodate Felix.)

Sylvain sinks down next to Felix before dragging the merman into his arms. Still unused to the affection, Felix stiffens reflexively before relaxing into Sylvain’s warmth and lightly wrapping his own arm around the redhead’s waist. The cuddling is still new and a little awkward, but not at all unwelcome.

“Missed you.” Sylvain murmurs into his hair, warm breath ghosting over Felix’s ear and sending a pleasant thrill down his spine. It’s one of the first phrases that Sylvain made sure he understood and the affection in it always brings heat to his cheeks. Felix chirps his agreement and buries face more firmly into the crook of Sylvain’s neck.

Felix wishes he could explain his absence, but human language is challenging and he doesn’t have the words for it yet. He settles for whispering apologies into Sylvain’s skin in his own tongue and hopes the redhead understands.

They sit for a while in peaceful silence, enjoying each other’s company and the quiet rushing sounds of the ocean in front of them and rustling of the trees behind when Felix remembers. Felix lifts his head to blink purposely at Sylvain before poking his chest and holding out his hand. He had been promised a gift last time.

Sylvain blinks back in confusion but seems to understand when Felix holds out his again, more insistently than before. He says a teasing word in human-speak that Felix doesn’t comprehend, but the tone is obvious and Felix lightly flicks him with his tail. Jackass.

Laughing quietly to himself, Sylvain reaches into a pocket and takes out a small box and places it in Felix’s palm.

Felix reluctantly removes his arm from around Sylvain’s waist to inspect the small, wooden container. It’s red, a darker shade than Sylvain’s hair, and seems to open around the middle. He gently pulls it open to a round object attached to a chain. It’s a perfect circle, a little less than half a pinky-width wide, and made of soft gold. It looks like it’s made to loosely fit one of Felix’s fingers.

It’s remarkably similar to the object on Sylvain’s index finger. He remembers playing with it and trying it on his own hands previously (it had been slightly too small for Felix’s thumb and too loose for every other finger, to his disappointment). He knows he should remember the human word for this, searches the memory of that day for the word. _ Ring_. 

Merpeople love to adorn themselves with all manner of pretty things, but rings are uncommon due to how uncomfortably they sit against the webbing between their digits. 

Sylvain searches Felix’s expression before lifting the arm Felix isn’t leaning against to pull the ring and chain from their box, lightly draping it against Felix’s throat. Felix nods in assent before taking the chain in one hand and trying to unsuccessfully pull it down over his head. Sylvain bursts out laughing, mirth rumbling through Felix’s body. 

Thoroughly embarrassed, Felix flings the gift back in Sylvain’s face and it clips him in the chin before disappearing over his shoulder and rolling into the sand behind them. Sylvain lightly pushes Felix out of his lap and into the sand to scramble after the ring, returning with the chain unclasped and arms outstretched in offering to put the chain on for him. Felix chirps and lifts his hair, allowing Sylvain to kneel behind him and lay the ring at the base of Felix’s throat, hands slightly shaking as they fumble the clasp. 

Sylvain is smiling softly when Felix turns to look at him, hand raising to cup Felix’s cheek. His thumb, slightly sandy, brushes under Felix’s lower lip, eyes tracing the motion. He pulls Felix closer by the waist, pausing when he’s so close that Felix can count his eyelashes. Sylvain’s eyes flicker down to Felix’s lips again before he closes the gap and brushes his own lips against Felix’s. 

The kiss is light and gentle, leaving a slight tingling feeling on Felix lips and igniting a strong surge of affection and, ever impatient, he tugs Sylvain back in by the neck. This kiss is more insistent and Felix feels Sylvain gently nibble at his lower lip, tongue immediately darting in to lick against Felix’s own when he opens his mouth to sigh lightly at the pleasant sensations. 

Sylvain whispers unintelligible human words against Felix’s lips, against his neck. 

And then Sylvain presses a final kiss to Felix’s temple before crushing the merman into his chest. Felix smiles against Sylvain’s thunderous heartbeat, reaching to hug the human back, and allows his mind to wander.

Ingrid will grill him later about the object around his neck and Dimitri will likely recognize it for what it is, but Felix can’t bring himself to care, filled to the brim with Sylvain’s warmth and his own affection for the human. 

Being with Sylvain gives Felix a sense of contentment he hasn’t felt in a very long time, and he allows himself to revel in it while he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random things of note:
> 
>   * this isn't based on the plot of The Little Mermaid, just inspired by it. felix has no desire to become a human despite being unsatisfied with his home life.
>   * sylvain is _not_ a human prince, though he is still a noble.
>   * mercedes, annette, and ashe exist but since this doesn't have sylvain's perspective, they're not in this (yet).
>   * there is actually an incident where felix saved sylvain from drowning, i just wanted to stop at 2.5k words.


	4. in your head (in my heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain only wishes this were a nightmare Dorothea's cursed him with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Tags: Humor, Body Swap, dubious use of unquantified magic
> 
> \----
> 
> another incomplete idea, but i wanted to try body swap comedy? even though i don't have the bandwidth to complete the entire fic and this is mostly just setup sorry.
> 
> it's a little bit of roommate au + university au, but that's background.

Sylvain wakes to his head pounding.

No. Nope, wait, that’s someone insistently hammering on his door. 

Sylvain groans. “Ingrid, go away, it’s too early.” 

There’s something not quite right about how the words sound coming out of his mouth, but it’s really too fucking early to deal with it. There’s a little bit of light filtering in the window on his left (...left? his window is to the right of his bed) but not enough to really be _ day _ yet and so. Back to sleep. Can’t be assed.

“It’s me, you asshole!” The voice outside his door yelling at him sounds like… himself? Definitely using Felix’s words though. This must be some kind of weird lucid dream. Still, if he’s awake enough to know he’s dreaming, he might as well entertain his angry dream-self.

“Door isn’t locked.” He whines back at the voice. Sylvain only sleeps with the door locked when he has someone over. There’s still something weird about his voice but he’s really not awake enough to process it yet.

“I already tried it!” He hears the doorknob jiggle but no corresponding creak of his door’s hinges. “Of course it’s locked, this is my room, not yours!”

Sylvain doesn’t know what that means, but it seems like the voice isn’t going away.

“Urgh, fine.”

Sylvain rolls to the left to get out of bed and promptly hits his nose against the window. Ow. What the fuck? 

Oh right. Dream.

Sylvain reluctantly lurches right and swings his legs to the ground, feet hitting cold floor. He winces. Damn, this dream took away his rug too. 

Sylvain fumbles his way to the door, tripping over a couple sheathed swords (wait, swords?) and a pile of dirty clothes (fuck, why is his hamper gone too?). Actually… Sylvain squints blearily at his surroundings and blinks a couple times. Why did this dream make him sleep in Felix’s room? 

When Sylvain finally manages to negotiate the door open, scrubbing his hand through his hair (what..? it’s never been this long before) to be met with his own face, glowering down at him. 

“Fuck.” Other-Sylvain says. “I don’t know what you did, Sylvain, but you screwed us _ both_, dumbass.” 

“What..? What are you talking about?” Sylvain’s brain can’t seem to catch up, but this is a _ really fucking weird _dream. 

Other-Sylvain grabs his arm and shoves him in front of the mirror in the corner of Felix’s room. “_This_.”

The bottom drops out from his stomach, and suddenly Sylvain suddenly much more awake. 

Staring back at Sylvain is Felix’s face. 

Sylvain turns around slowly to stare back at the other Sylvain. “So you’re…”

“It’s Felix, jackass.” The eye-roll accompanying the statement confirms it. It’s a weird look on his own face.

This is a really, _ really _ weird dream. Or, Sylvain really hopes he’s dreaming. Please be a bad dream. “Felix, punch me.”

“What?” 

“Punch me, I need to wake up from this dream.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me punch my own body.” Felix complains as he rolls his eyes again. Still, he complies, winding Sylvain with a right hook to the gut. “Ugh, you should train more, I can’t even hit correctly.”

Great, so now Sylvain is in pain and also most definitely still _not _ waking up from this dream.

“_Shit._”

* * *

Felix definitely still thinks that it’s Sylvain’s fault they ended up like this, but for once, Sylvain has no idea what he might have done to land them in trouble.

(“One of your stupid girlfriends probably cursed you or something.”

“I mean, maybe, but why would they drag _ you _ into this?”)

Neither of them has any idea what to do to fix this, so they’re probably stuck like this for the time being. This is complicated by the fact that both options of explaining what happened over and over again and pretending to be the other person are incredibly unappealing. 

(“Your schedule is literally school, martial arts, sleep.”

“Shut up, Sylvain, you don’t get to talk. You don’t do anything that isn’t flirting with women or getting blackout drunk.”)

Honestly, the most impressive thing about the morning is probably that Felix’s yelling hadn’t woken up Dimitri or Ingrid in the other rooms of their shared apartment. Although, given that Felix was doing it with _ Sylvain’s _ voice, he can’t be sure the two of them weren’t just ignoring it because they thought Sylvain was making a racket. 

(Ingrid confirms this when she finally comes out of her room to cobble together some bacon and eggs for breakfast before her first class. When Felix complains about being stuck in Sylvain’s body, she gives a commiserating nod and offers him a few slices of her bacon as consolation. Not surprising, but still. Rude.

Dimitri, on the other hand, is horrified that Sylvain and Felix appear to be stuck in each other’s bodies. He earnestly offers to help them switch back, but since no one has a clue what to do to undo it anyway, Sylvain just thanks him for the offer while Felix glares. Dimitri _ not _ helping is probably better or the long run anyway since his help probably means a shopping trip for new furniture. Also, it’s kind of funny watching Dimitri be unnerved by the fact that Felix’s face is being polite to him.)

It’s easy enough to tell Ingrid and Dimitri since they all live together and Ingrid can smell their lies from two cities over, but the whole issue of what to do for everyone else is a dilemma. Kind of like trying to figure out how to deal with accidentally planning two dates with different girls at the same time, a thought that receives a round of exasperated sighs and glares when he voices it.

(“Well, you wouldn’t _ have _ those girl problems if you didn’t flirt with everyone!” Ingrid calls out as she cleans her dishes before leaving.)

Sylvain _ really _ doesn’t want to have to be surly all the time or spend his entire day training at various dojos across the city. He also doubts Felix wants to go on dates or be mistaken for Sylvain, so they’re probably better off just telling people what happened. Felix just grunts when Sylvain says as much, which is as good as a yes. It’s _ very _ weird to hear Felix-noises coming out of his own mouth.

Sylvain just hopes that maybe _ one _ of their friends can help them figure out how to fix this stupid thing.

* * *

The answer Sylvain’s looking for comes sooner than expected, because he’s barely halfway left his first class of the day when Dorothea comes up to him with a knowing look in her eye. 

“Hello, _ Felix_.” Her giggle seals the deal that she knows something. 

Sylvain turns the charm up to full wattage. “What a beautiful day for Garreg Mach’s finest beauty, Dorothea! Please, join me for tea, I’m sure we have a lot to talk about.”

Dorothea’s expression flickers with disappointment. “Ugh, Sylvain. I thought you would at least pretend.” 

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.” Sylvain smiles as brightly as possible. It probably looks weird on Felix’s face. Actually, he should take a selfie later where he’s smiling because he’ll never get a better chance. It’ll make good blackmail to tease Felix with but also it’ll just be nice to have because, you know, Felix doesn’t smile much. 

Dorothea sighs dramatically. “Fine, _ fine_, let’s get tea, _ Felix_. Would you like me to sing to you as we walk like the last time we hung out?”

Sylvain stops in his tracks. “You sing to Felix?” 

“Yes, are you _ jealous_?” Dorothea continues leading the way toward the tea shop, not sparing a glance back at Sylvain. He glares at the back of her head but follows.

“Hardly! Why would I be jealous of such a thing? You have a lovely voice, Dorothea dearest, and I can’t begrudge you for singing.”

Sylvain can hear her eye-roll. “Cut the crap, Sylvain. You were sobbing into my shoulder just last night about how much you wish Felix would hang out with you more. What was it? ‘Why does he spend so much training? Doesn’t he want to be friends with me anymore? But it’s not like I don’t want him to train, because he looks really hot when he comes home without a shirt on.’”

Sylvain really doesn’t appreciate her imitation of his voice (his actual voice, not the Felix-voice he’s stuck with for now), but he can’t deny that he vaguely remembers saying something like that while plastered. She throws him a knowing look over her shoulder and giggles as she enters the tea shop ahead of him. 

It’s after Sylvain has picked up their drinks and placed her Albinean blend latte in front of her and taken a sip of his own Bergamot that Dorothea rests her elbows on the table and places her chin on her interlaced fingers, ready to talk.

Sylvain runs his hair through his hair (still weird that it’s so long even with the ponytail, how does Felix deal with this?). “I’ll cut to the chase. ’Thea, did you have something to do with me and Felix ending up like this?” 

She taps her chin thoughtfully. “I mean, I could lie to you and you’d have no choice but to believe me.” 

Sylvain levels her a flat look. “’Thea, please.” 

Dorothea huffs lightly. “Okay, yes. I _ might _ have slipped a little something in your drink last night. It’s a potion to help the person who drinks it and the one they love communicate better. I read some reviews that it’s made some people swap bodies, but I wasn’t sure what it would do to you since the results seem inconsistent. Claude recommended it to me.”

Sylvain gapes at her. “And what are you we supposed to do now that we’re like this?! How do we fix this?!”

Dorothea throws him an offended glare. “What do you take me for? I’m not going to feed you some random drug I haven’t researched. You just have to kiss him. You’re no fun when you’re drunk and moping about Felix. It’s not like you don’t want to.” 

Sylvain can feel the blood rush out of his face. “I… Okay, _ yes_, but I can’t just force him to kiss me!”

Dorothea hums. “‘Force’ is a little strong. I don’t think you’ll have to force anything. Anyone who’s seen the two of you knows he looks at you the same way.”

Sylvain slumps back in his seat. 

He’s fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry dorothea, i love you, i can't believe i had to saddle you with sylvain's dumb ass either.


	5. downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Sylvain makes Felix cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Azure Moon Spoilers, Support Spoilers, Friends to Lovers
> 
> \----
> 
> rip i'm late sorry... tomorrow (uhh "tomorrow" aka later today) will likely also be slightly late.
> 
> back to canon-verse; today's chapter brought to you by cliche.

**one.**

Sylvain Gautier is a bully.

At the wise old age of seven, Felix has learned that the world is cruel, and that cruelty takes the shape of a mean, teasing redhead, nearly three years older and more than a head taller. 

It also sometimes take the form of an older brother who likes to ruffle his hair too much, always bests him at sparring, and calls him “baby Fee-Fee”, or in the likeness of judgmental uncles and aunties who tell Felix that he should be a big boy and stop crying so much, but in this moment, the world’s evil fits into one awful ten year-old friend, laughing at him for losing his grip on his training sword.

Sylvain’s family, visiting the Fraldarius estate for the week, is due to leave tomorrow, and he and Felix have been unceremoniously waved off to keep themselves busy while their fathers talk about… well, Felix doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Glenn might, though, since he’s brilliant (a… pro... progedy? porodagy? the thing everyone calls Glenn because he’s really smart) and their fathers have been making him sit in their meetings. Sylvain’s the heir and he’s supposed to be in the meetings too, but he’s too dumb (but. Felix is kind of glad, because that means he can at least play with Sylvain while Glenn is busy). 

Honestly, Felix _ much _ prefers to train with Glenn because Glenn is smarter, older, and cooler, but he supposes that Sylvain will have to do.

Sylvain always tries to get out of training and is constantly insulting swordplay because he thinks it’s not as cool as lancework, and Felix has gotten in trouble _ so many times _ because Sylvain does something stupid, but. He’s there and he spars with Felix when everyone else is busy and shows him cool places in the woods around the Gautier manor, so... he’s not always so bad. 

Except now. Because Felix’s sword went flying and accidentally smacked Felix in the face two whole minutes ago and Sylvain _ still _ hasn’t stopped laughing. (And Felix has seen Sylvain drop his lance, stumble over tree roots, and once quite literally fall over himself trying to flirt with one of the Galatea maids, so he doesn’t even get to laugh at Felix.) 

It sucks because Felix can feel himself losing control of his temper, can feel the wetness stinging his eyes. His forehead still smarts from the sword, but it’s stupid Sylvain that’s making him upset. Everyone tells Felix he needs to control his emotions better, but it’s really hard when there are mean friends like Sylvain Butthead Gautier. 

It’s when Felix can’t hold back anymore and lets out a choked sob as the first tears track down his cheeks that Sylvain finally pauses long enough to see that he’s really upset Felix. He tries to shush Felix and apologize but it’s too late. 

Felix punches Sylvain in the arm and storms off, still bawling. Glenn’s way better.

* * *

**two.**

It still hasn’t sunk in that Glenn is… gone. Dead. That he’ll never come home from Duscur, never spar with Felix again, never challenge Felix again to eating spicy food until they both want to vomit. 

Never tell Felix how much he’s improved or how proud he is of his little brother.

They hadn’t even been able to send home anything other than Glenn’s battered armor and his broken sword, accompanied by an unrecognizable Dimitri. 

Felix’s father had taken one regretful look at the armor and said that Glenn died like a hero before moving on to fret about Dimitri, like he hadn’t just lost a son. Like Felix hadn’t just lost his only brother.

The Galateas and the Gautiers are in Fraldarius for the funeral, the former for Ingrid’s sake and the latter for his old man’s. Other than a couple perfunctory, empty, consolatory greetings, Felix has been invisible. 

It’s a quieter affair than it would be at any other time, the death of the heir of the second-most important house in Faerghus, but with Fhirdiad in upheaval and houses Charon, Fraldarius, and Gautier focused on protecting the sole heir of House Blaiddyd, there’s little room for fanfare for Glenn. Glenn wasn’t just any knight, and yet, there’s no time for him, for grief.

The casket is empty because _ they hadn’t been able to bring home Glenn’s body_. The closest they have is the ghost that makes Dimitri wake up in the middle of the night screaming in the room next to Felix’s. 

It’s honestly disgusting, the way that everyone goes on and on about Glenn’s _ noble _ sacrifice. They praise his death like being dead is something to aspire to. Like that _ fucking _ empty casket is an object worthy of worship. 

They hadn’t brought back Felix’s big brother, just a bunch of empty ideals.

The funeral itself is over quickly, filled with nothing but useless praise, and then the empty wooden box that pretends to be Glenn’s final resting place is lowered into the ground. 

Felix storms off after the ceremony. _ He _ won’t forget Glenn, won’t let anyone else needlessly sacrifice themselves for stupidity. He doesn’t know how hard he’ll have to train to reach that goal, but he’ll be _ damned _ if he lets his father’s love of chivalry take anything else from him too. 

The training dummy he’s attacking is nearly beaten to shreds by the time the hall to the training hall creaks open and Sylvain steps in. It thumps quietly closed again behind me, and Sylvain’s steps echo alongside Felix’s grunts as he slowly approaches.

Felix can tell it’s Sylvain by the way he steps, almost a saunter and lacking in any sort of stealth or subtlety. 

“Leave me alone!” Felix yells before taking another wide swing. 

Sylvain hums. There’s no falter in his footsteps. “Nope, sorry, can’t do that.” 

Felix whirls around, sword arcing to point at Sylvain’s throat. “Get out. Save your empty words for those women you can’t get enough of.”

Sylvain sighs and gently pushes the training sword away. “Can’t I be worried about you?”

“What?” Felix’s barks a harsh laugh. “Are you going to tell me that Glenn was a worthy knight and that I should be proud of him? I’ve already heard it from my old man, I don’t need you to say it. You can go.”

Sylvain just looks at Felix, silent for once. Felix can see the pity in Sylvain’s face, wants to beat it out of him. He’s more than strong enough to beat Sylvain consistently now what with how little Sylvain trains. Sylvain’s still got three years and a considerable amount of height on Felix, but he’s lazy, weak, useless. He could just knee Sylvain in the gut to get him out of the way so he can go back to training. Maybe backhand him with the sword or punch him in the face.

Unfortunately, before Felix can do anything, Sylvain grabs him by the arm and hauls him into a crushing hug. Felix struggles, uselessly beating his fists against Sylvain’s back, arms mostly pinned by the hug. He’s about three seconds away from kneeing Sylvain in the groin to get him to let go when Sylvain speaks.

“I’m sorry.” The words are quiet, whispered into Felix’s hair. “Glenn deserved a better death. He shouldn’t be dead at all, but…”

Felix feels his shoulders sag. 

“You don’t even like Glenn.” The protest is weak, almost wobbly, and Felix can feel the fight draining out of him.

Sylvain is silent for a moment before shrugging. “I wasn’t really close to him but… he was your brother. It’s okay to be sad or mad or… whatever you need to feel.”

Felix still wants to fight his way free of the embrace, but he can’t make his limbs cooperate. Everything feels heavy, his head, his limbs, his heart. 

Goddess, Felix misses Glenn.

Felix buries his face in Sylvain’s shirt. If Sylvain feels wetness or hears a sniffle, he doesn’t say anything. He just raises one arm to stroke comfortingly through Felix’s hair.

* * *

**three.**

Felix is going to break Sylvain’s pretty face and stupid ego. He doesn’t know why his idiotic friend can’t get through his head that _ no _ Felix doesn’t want to waste his time picking up girls from the nearby towns and _ no _ he doesn’t want to hear about Sylvain’s latest conquests. When he’d agreed to eat dinner with Sylvain after they’d trained, he’d hoped they could avoid this line of conversation.

But no. Sylvain is too fucking stupid and oblivious to realize that Felix _ does not want to talk about this_. 

He’s only half-finished with his meal and still kind of hungry, but he’s seriously considering dumping the other half on Sylvain’s head to get him to shut up. 

“I mean, did you see the tits on the Professor? I thought Dorothea was stacked, but holy shit. Man am I glad she’s going to be teaching us. His Highness said something about her saving the house leaders at Remire?” Sylvain tosses out a shrug as he takes another bite. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually looking forward to classes.”

Nope, Felix is completely done with this conversation. He slams his hands on the table and stands up, resisting the urge to dump at least his water on Sylvain’s obnoxious, _ perfectly-tousled _ hair. 

Felix glares down at Sylvain, who has finally seen fit to shut up now that he’s been interrupted. “Find yourself another dinner partner. Stop wasting my time with your prattle about women.”

Felix picks up his bowls and stalks off, shoving the half-eaten remains in the hands of the dining hall staff on his way out. Sylvain is a blind moron who doesn’t see anyone anyone who’s not an attractive female, and Felix hates that he cares and that it upsets him. 

If Felix spends the evening in the training hall, training until the sweat on his forehead and tears on his cheeks are indistinguishable, that’s not for anyone but him to know.

* * *

**four.**

If Sylvain dies, Felix is going to revive him and then kill him for being a complete utter reckless dumbass. Actually, he might do it several times, just to get the point across about what a complete imbecile Sylvain is. 

Who is Sylvain to just _ jump in front of a dark mage_? Felix had it under control. Maybe the mage was behind him and a little out of sight, but he would have been _ fine _ and absolutely did not need Sylvain’s help, _ especially _ if Sylvain was just going to get himself grievously injured.

Fucking. Idiot. 

Mercedes had kicked him out of the infirmary while they were healing Sylvain earlier because his pacing was distracting and Marianne was starting to get nervous, so he doesn’t even know if Sylvain is still on his deathbed. 

Dimitri had come up to him to promise that Sylvain would make it through, but he’s the last person Felix wants to hear any of that from. He’s grateful that Dimitri isn’t on a murderous rampage anymore, and he might finally be coming to terms with Dimitri’s boar side, but Felix doesn’t need to be consoled by someone who keeps the dead over his shoulder. 

Ingrid had just taken one look at him and sighed, and Felix honestly doesn’t know what to be most offended about. 

Mercedes finally allows him back into the infirmary after he’s almost worn a groove in the couple paces in front of the door. Part of him had wanted to go train to take his mind off Sylvain’s injury, but wanting to be nearby for when Sylvain woke won out.

As he rushes back in, Sylvain is… asleep, if the steady rise and fall of his bandaged chest is any indication. Felix is sorely tempted to yell at him to wake up so he can tell him just how upset he is about the stunt he pulled, but Mercedes is smiling at him in a way that suggests a painful death if he disturbs her patient. Mildly disgruntled by the fact that his rant will have to wait, Felix sinks into the chair beside Sylvain’s bed.

After Mercedes finally excuses herself, Felix gently takes Sylvain’s right hand in his and brings it up to his lips, eyes undeniably red and wet. 

“You scared the shit out of me.” Felix forces back a sniffle. “I can’t bear it if you leave me too.” 

Sylvain stirs slightly in his sleep, mumbling unintelligibly. For a heart-stopping moment, Felix thinks that Sylvain has heard his almost-confession, but Sylvain’s head lolls back against his pillow and Felix lets out a shaky, gasping laugh. 

Felix blinks away the tears that have gathered in the corner of his eyes, letting them spill down his cheeks as he clutches tight to Sylvain’s hand. “Fuck you, Gautier. Don’t you dare break our promise.” 

* * *

**five. (the time they both do.)**

Sylvain is being unusually dodgy. He’s been acting a little weird for several months now, but it’s definitely gotten worse since Enbarr. Felix would normally chalk it up as Sylvain being Sylvain, but he’s never avoided Felix before and it’s worrying.

Felix had tried asking Ingrid if she knew what was wrong with their local redheaded dunce, but she’d only rolled her eyes and muttered “boys!” under her breath before waving him off with her head in her hand like he’d given her a migraine. Felix is pretty sure he should be insulted, but he has no idea what for. 

Because Sylvain is usually the one to seek him out, Felix isn’t sure where to start to get Sylvain to talk to him again. It’s not helped by the fact that Dimitri and the newly anointed Archbishop have decided that their optimal plan of action is to immediately begin rebuilding Fódlan, which means the immediate return of the nobles to their territories to oversee reconstruction. Sylvain is a day’s ride away by horse but Felix hasn’t heard from him in the two months since they parted at the edge of Fraldarius territory.

So it’s incredibly alarming when one brisk early December day, Sylvain suddenly arrives at the Fraldarius estate with entourage in tow, demanding an audience. While Felix is glad to have a distraction from the endless paperwork, he can’t help but feel uneasy. Even settled in Felix’s study, Sylvain is agitated, pacing in large strides back and forth across the room, unable to meet Felix’s eyes. 

Felix’s patience, ever thin, snaps after only a couple minutes. “Whatever you’re trying to say, just spit it out. I don’t have time for you to waste.” 

Sylvain blinks at him, slightly wild-eyed and breathless, before very quickly turning away again. If Felix didn’t know better, he’d say there was almost a flush creeping up Sylvain’s neck. It’s mildly concerning. Is he ill? 

Sylvain mutters to himself for another minute, Felix’s patience long since exhausted, before he abruptly turns to Felix. “Do you - do you remember our promise?” 

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you ask me this just six months ago? Do you think I’d forget that quickly?” 

Sylvain flushes slightly (it’s cute, Felix thinks, but definitely concerning) before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I know we said we wouldn’t die before the other but… I want to keep the other half of that promise too. Please, stick with me.”

It feels like there’s something he’s trying to say, but Felix can’t quite put his finger on it, though the hypocrisy of Sylvain’s words strikes an angry note with him. “Oh? Was _ I _ the one who’s been avoiding _ you _ for the last three months?”

Sylvain looks away guiltily. “There… was a lot I had to figure out. With myself. Things I had to tell my father. Believe me, Ingrid’s given me a lot of grief already.”

Sylvain meets his gaze again, turns to fully face Felix, slowly steps toward him. “But I’m here now. Please… Felix…”

Something in the room shifts as Sylvain takes Felix’s hand in one of his, pressing it to his cheek, slowly reeling Felix in with the other. Felix can feel the heat rising in his cheeks and a delirious mix of anticipation and arousal stirring in his gut. “I don’t just want to die with you. I want to live with you, stay with you for the rest of our lives. Rebuild our lands together. Watch sunrises, make wishes on stars, dance without any music playing.”

Sylvain turns and gently kisses Felix’s palm. “I want to become cranky and old with you.” 

Felix drops his head to Sylvain’s shoulder, face aflame. “Fuck! You can’t just do this to me.”

“Sorry.” Sylvain mutters into Felix’s hair, pressing a soft kiss above his ear. “I think I’ve always loved you but just didn’t know it.”

Felix huffs and pulls Sylvain’s mouth down to meet his. It’s messy, teeth clacking and noses smashed together, turning into something sweet when Sylvain tilts his head and pulls Felix closer, softening the kiss with gentle nips and whispered words of adoration. 

Felix’s face is wet, and when he raises both palms to cup Sylvain’s cheeks, he finds that he’s not the only one crying. 

Sylvain pulls back from the kiss, smiling softly and radiately down at Felix, grin crooked and honest. “So is that a yes?”

Felix punches him lightly on the shoulder, tears still streaming. “You owe me a ring.”


	6. rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The witch in the forest is Sylvain's last hope to save Felix's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Tags: Unhappy/Ambiguous Ending, Memory Loss, Alternate Universe, Lovers to Strangers
> 
> \----
> 
> asdflkasgajsldfl this is so late for day 6 i'm sorry. please forgive any errors. also, this is my first attempt writing anything quite this angsty (though i've written angry things before).
> 
> setting is kind of a canon-adjacent happy fantasy land?
> 
> **minor content warning**: there's a very brief segment that should be rated M rather than T but i'd rather not raise the rating on the whole fic for it.
> 
> if you'd like to skip it, it's the short section that comes directly after "...they miserably drink their time away until they’re allowed to leave."

It ends like this: 

Felix, clutched bruisingly tight in Sylvain’s arms, face ghostly pale and arm loosely looped around the redhead’s neck as he pushes down the faint, twisted dirt path into the heart of the woods. The faint clanking of Sylvain’s armor as it shifts and the clopping footsteps of his horse below them thud through the trees, the noise ominous in the otherwise dark, silent forest, the dense foliage around them only barely letting sunlight creep in from above as a thin mist hangs in the air. Sylvain holds Felix tighter when he lets out a choked, gasping cough, breath barely strong enough to tickle Sylvain’s neck where his head rests.

The rumors of the witch who lives there are unconfirmed at best, but Sylvain is desperate and at his wits end. No healers have yet been able to find a cure for the dark spell that’s slowly eating away at Felix’s life leaving him unconscious and barely better than death warmed over. The best they had been able to do is tell Sylvain that Felix will be dead within the week. They had all sat back after that assessment, already quietly mourning Felix. Anger at their cowardice and resignation still burns through Sylvain, pushing him forward despite the long, exhausting journey he had taken to get here.

Well. There’s no way he’s going to give up on Felix, no matter what the damn healers tell him. 

He’s traveled nearly two days without sleep to reach this point, and the exhaustion has worn its way into Sylvain’s bones. It’s as he feels himself giving in to sleep that they finally reach a clearing. A small hut sits unobtrusively in the glen, single visible window lit with soft candlelight. Sylvain slumps in relief before pulling on Beauty’s reins to finally let the weary mare rest. He slides down, tired arms threatening to drop Felix as he lands with a muted thump.

Sylvain knocks heavily, hopeful that the light inside means that the witch is home. The door opens almost immediately, and a man of average height with bright green hair and eyes and clothed in a dark robe looks passively out at him. Sylvain blinks in surprise and opens his mouth hesitantly to ask about the witch, but the man’s piercing gaze drops to Felix and he nods, waving Sylvain in. 

Leading the way to a homey sitting room, he points to a cozy forest-green sofa, and Sylvain gently places Felix down. Felix’s face draws tight and he whimpers at the loss of heat, curling up slightly even as he grimaces in pain. Sylvain takes his hand and squeezes lightly, wishing again that he could take Felix’s pain into himself.

He wishes that Felix hadn’t pushed him out of the way of that damned trap. It had been Sylvain’s fault they were on that cursed quest anyway. His mouth had gotten the better of him and before he knew it, he had agreed to that stupid bet of Claude’s about finding treasure in an abandoned dragon’s lair. 

The green-haired man continues to observe them neutrally, offering no words, though a fresh pot of tea materializes on the side table after a few solemn minutes pass, set for three.

Sylvain finally speaks up, voice rough with disuse and fatigue seeping into every word. “Please… I heard about a witch with extraordinary powers here, I’m looking for her. I need someone to save Felix. He was caught in a curse trap meant for me, and they - the healers - they can’t figure out how to save him.”

His voice cracks and tears spill down his cheeks as he begins to sob, words choked and incoherent. “This is my last hope. Please… please, I need someone to save him. I can’t lose him. I - I can’t lose… Felix is the best thing in my life, I won’t let him die. We promised - _ he _promised… If he dies, it’s my fault! I can’t, he can’t - ! Oh goddess… it’s all my fault...” 

Sylvain babbles on as the green-haired man places a hand on his shoulder and finally speaks. “My name is Byleth. I do not know about a witch, but I can help him. But… so much magic comes at a cost.”

Sylvain looks pleadingly at Byleth, eyes wild and desperate, hands grasping at the shorter man’s shoulders. “Anything! I… there’s some gold in the satchel on my horse, but if that’s not enough, I’ll do whatever I have to pay you for your services.”

Byleth shakes his head slightly. “I do not require payment, but magic is… an exchange of things. The cost of lifting such a powerful curse cannot be named. Magic that gives must also take. You will know the cost.”

The green-haired man’s face is stubbornly empty, but his words are somber and consoling. “Are you willing to pay this price?”

“Yes, yes. Whatever it takes! Please, please, save Felix.” 

Byleth nods and sits beside Felix, summoning a stool from the corner of the room to seat himself and a small basket filled with pungent herbs.

Breath still shuddering, Sylvain collapses onto the floor and wipes at his eyes, ready to idly pass time until the (witch? mage? being?) is done healing Felix. 

Sylvain doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes to a gentle shake from their host, who bluntly informs him that Felix’s curse is removed and he may wake soon. Byleth steps away, taking the teapot with him, and Sylvain leaps into his vacated seat, reclaiming Felix’s hand. The color has slightly returned to Felix’s face and his breathing is deeper and more even. 

Their mystery witch is a miracle-worker, and Sylvain can’t help but feel overwhelmed with relief. As he presses fervent kisses to Felix’s palm, the dark-haired man in front of him blearily opens his eyes, confusion fogging his expression.

Felix weakly tugs his hand away from Sylvain. “Who are you? Where have you taken me?”

Sylvain’s heart leaps to his throat and he lets out a shuddering laugh. “Very funny, Felix.”

The confusion morphs into anger (familiar and heart-breaking) and Felix snarls despite his weakened state and he feebly grasps at his sides for his weapons belt. “I don’t know who you are and what you’ve done with me, but I can assure you that I will kill you. _Painfully_.”

In those few words, Sylvain’s world comes crashing down around him. 

_ You will know the cost_.

Felix doesn’t remember him. 

It’s all his fault. All because he lead Felix into that trap.

* * *

Felix is tired of this fucking wedding and its pomp and ceremony. Dimitri’s the king, he could have done literally anything, and he chose to schmooze with the nobility. Fucker. 

He senses more than hears Sylvain’s drunken swaying behind him, and he rounds on his lover before he can do something stupid in public. Felix definitely does not want to remember that time they were almost caught fucking in the royal library by Ashe, nor does he want a repeat of it here in the royal gardens with goddess knows whoever comes out next. 

A grin sloshes across Sylvain’s face as he reaches out to embrace Felix. He peppers Felix’s face with kisses before sinking down on one knee and reaching into a pocket, laughing sheepishly.

...

Felix blinks.

There’s no one out in the gardens with him, and he can’t remember for the life of him why he’s left with the feeling that there should be. 

Sighing heavily, Felix rolls his eyes as he heads back in to the wedding reception, well past irritated with the ridiculous flashiness. Well, at least Ingrid can keep him company as they miserably drink their time away until they’re allowed to leave. 

* * *

Sylvain’s hand tugs insistently on Felix’s shirt, removing his teeth from Felix’s neck only to drag the offending article of clothing up over his head. He grinds insistently against Felix, and arousal burns through the dark-haired man as Sylvain’s hands grope further down, resulting in a harsh squeeze of his ass. Felix feels dizzy and breathless, all blood hopelessly gone from anywhere near his brain, and the only thing he can focus on is the hard line of Sylvain’s cock pressed against his hip. 

“Bed,” Felix gasps out as he reels back slightly, distractedly trying to reorient himself. 

Sylvain growls and crowds Felix backward toward the bed on the far side of the room, eyes dark. Felix feels naked under his gaze and he flushes, unable to keep up with the intensity of the stare following him.

The backs of Felix’s knees hit the bed and he’s pushed down onto it by Sylvain leaning over him and reaching to divest him of his remaining clothing.

…

Felix wakes from the vivid dream horribly aroused, as though he’s thirteen again. He can’t remember what he was dreaming about, the details smudged and quickly fading, but the emptiness of his bed feels lonelier than usual. 

* * *

It’s an exhilarating feeling, narrowly dodging all the traps and darting through twisted paths up toward sunlight after a night spent crawling through an old crypt looking for treasure. Not exactly the most fitting hobby for two noble heirs, but Sylvain has always been a bit of an idiot and a thrillseeker, and Felix (though he’ll never admit it out loud) would much rather spend time with Sylvain crawling through ruins and caves than watching him flirt endlessly. 

When they finally make it to open air, the euphoria overtakes Felix and he drops to his knees, laughing brightly and more earnestly than he had in the years since Glenn’s death. Sylvain chuckles beside him and watches him with bright eyes, filled to the brim with affection and elation, before he too sinks down and he crushes Felix in a warm embrace, mouth crashing into Felix’s as he kisses him passionately.

It’s good to be alive.

…

Felix lets the last of his laughter finally leave him as he picks himself back up, lightly grabbing his newly-recovered treasure and slinging it on his back as he hums Annette’s latest melody. He has quite the haul to show off to his friends for his first solo excursion.

The air echoes with a laugh that’s more raucous than Felix’s own.

* * *

Felix was born ready for today. Today is the day he finally gets to show his father and Glenn just how much he’s improved at the sword, and in official matches against Sylvain and Dimitri no less. Felix has yet to win a match with Glenn, and as an official knight in the king’s service, Glenn has no place in the childish exhibition matches of the pages, so defeating his brother will have to wait for another day.

Still, Felix looks forward to defeating two of his closest friends. Despite being nearly three years older, Sylvain is nowhere near as good with a sword as Felix is. Dimitri will be harder to beat, but Felix likes to think that he knows how to best the prince between the countless hours of practice sparring observing Dimitri’s style. 

As he and Sylvain are called forward to spar, Sylvain makes a face at him and Felix has to bite down a laugh, choosing instead to stick out his tongue. 

He raises his sword, waiting for the ready signal.

…

Felix is flushed with exertion, his match against Dimitri drawn out and tiring. Dimitri had won, in the end, his brute strength prevailing over Felix’s agility and flexibility. Father and Glenn clap for him from the sidelines and Felix bows to them before stepping off the stage.

The loss of his only match of the day stings as Felix fights back a few tears. He’ll beat Dimitri next time. 

* * *

At four years old, Felix’s days are filled with running around the castle in Fhirdiad with his friends, evenings spent being scolded by Glenn or the nurses for getting lost or drawing on the walls. The days at home in Fraldarius are less fun and much quieter without Dimitri and Ingrid, though their proximity to Gautier means that he sometimes sees Sylvain, despite the older boy’s claims that he doesn’t need to play with babies and blunt refusal to spend too much time with the younger children in Fhirdiad. 

Sylvain is older and wiser, if sometimes a little mean, and he knows a lot of things that the rest of them are too young to have experienced yet. Which berries to eat, where to look for bugs, how to sneak food out of the kitchens. 

They giggle in their secluded corner of the castle, digging into the meat pies that Sylvain charmed away from the head cook with a puppy dog eyes and a cheeky wink. 

…

Felix sneaks the meat pie away from the plate where they sit and tiptoes quietly out of the kitchen to eat his stolen snack. He charges down the hall towards Glenn’s room, peals of laughter echoing off the Fraldarius estate walls when he hears her warmly calling after him for being a little sneak. 

* * *

Felix wakes in his guest room at the capitol castle, mouth dry and body heavy, as though it had been run over by a hundred horses and their carts. The last thing Felix can recall is having fallen into a magical trap on another solo expedition after endless goading by Claude. It doesn’t explain how he’s here, a day’s ride away, but Felix’s head aches and his body is still too exhausted to think, so he allows the attending nurses to help feed him before he sinks back into deep slumber.

* * *

It begins like this: 

Felix, looking away from bickering with Dimitri about the best way to allocate the new taxes levied on the nobility, meeting the eyes of a tall redheaded man across the hall. Felix has never seen him before, but something about the stranger makes his heart ache. His eyes widen when Felix meets his gaze before something in his expression softens into regret and he turns away to talk to the dark-haired woman beside him and the pain in Felix’s chest doubles.

His heart screams that he should recognize this man, that he’s important, but Felix knows he has never met him before, neither before the illness he recently recovered from or in the recent weeks caught in endless meetings with various nobility to hash out plans for governing the country. He stares unabashedly as he runs through his memory, trying to find a lost thread that could give him an indication of who this man is.

All he can muster is a vague temptation to go up to this asshole and punch him, and an overwhelming sense of affection and loss. 

Felix’s heart stops when the man sneaks a sad glance at him and flinches when he realizes Felix hasn’t looked away yet. His shoulders sag and a bitter smile twists his lips before he begins to lead his companion away.

Dimitri calls out his name, and Felix returns to their task of planning where best to build new roads between towns. By the time he looks up again, the man has long since disappeared, leaving no trace that he had ever been in the hall to begin with. 

A heavy weight settles in Felix’s chest and he resolves himself to focus on his duties as the king’s advisor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this made sense? i'm sorry it doesn't end happily... if it's not clear, sylvain chooses to stay away at the end because he's afraid of hurting felix again.


	7. edge of sea and sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain loathed the port town of Gautier and feared the sea beyond it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Tags: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Pre-Relationship
> 
> \----
> 
> **tw: depictions of near-drowning**  
  
more merman!felix au!! this time from sylvain's perspective. this is kinda intro-y but i hope to extend and convert this into the first chapter of a full fic later. not super involved with the prompt, but i swear it makes sense if you also read day 3's chapter.
> 
> sorry for how late this is. agdklsjf one more day left.
> 
> please also check out Day 3 (escape fantasy) if you haven't!

The Gautiers had governed over the northern port town in Adrestia, named for its founding family and a mere two hour’s ride from the capital city, for generations. A Gautier grew up on the sea, learned a strong command of sails, navigated the intricacies of maritime trade, and protected his people from all manner of pirates and invaders. It was a tradition passed down, father to son, steeped in fanfare and worthy of the adoration of the people of Gautier, a duty, an honor to serve.

Sylvain José Gautier hated the sea.

Well, to be more accurate about it, Sylvain feared the sea, its unknowable depths and frightening darkness, and hated the port town of Gautier. 

The town was tiny, downright stifling, and full of fawning townspeople whose bootlicking had gotten very tiring, very quickly. There were only so many times Sylvain could wink and kiss the same hands before it became routine rather than fun, before the same giggles started to grate, and the false, sugary-sweet gratitude sounded curdled. It was still always a pleasure to flirt with the ladies of the town, but Sylvain had long since learned that they cared more for his status as lordling and for his father’s wealth than about _ him_. 

Sylvain had been the capitol once as a child, had it dangled in front of him by his father, before the vision was whisked away and left as nothing more than a tantalizing memory. Sylvain still remembered the bustle of Enbarr, its vibrant people, endless sights, enticing smells, inventive sounds. It was the city of bright colors where Sylvain longed to escape to, and here he was, chained to this drab, lifeless port town instead.

Sylvain huffed a sigh as he strolled out the front gates of Gautier residence at the outskirts of the town. A girl a few years his younger carrying a chicken dropped her charge to curtsy to him as he threw her a cheery wave and manicured wink before she leapt back to attention to chase after the poor bird as it made its bid for freedom.

Goddess, what Sylvain wouldn’t give to be that chicken in that moment, surging ahead without a care beyond leaving behind the droll life of sitting day after day, crapping out eggs to please a couple idiotic humans. The fact that the chicken was likely on the way to the butcher was no major deterrent. While Sylvain quite liked his head attached to his neck, the existence of aimlessly wandering the town to the empty praises of those who wished to earn his favor as the future Margrave was basically no better than that of a corpse.

Still, Sylvain supposed, he could take small pleasures where he could get them, in dalliances with lovely young wenches and in his blunt refusals to step foot on any ship or boat, both of which irked his father to no end, much to Sylvain’s glee. 

The maidens were simply a way to pass the time. Sylvain’s refusal to learn maritime trade was more deeply rooted, inextricably linked with his dislike of the seas’ murky depths. As the Lady Gautier was fond of recalling, he had once adored the docks and spent countless hours as a young child poring over records of decades past, trying to glean insight into the best way to lead to the town to flourish. Once upon a time, Sylvain had been the ideal heir.

Sylvain had not always feared the sea, and as a young boy had loved it as much as any Gautier. It was in his blood, he had believed, to love the call of the deep waters and the brilliant sparkle of the sun’s bright reflections. To be awed by the schools of fish darting just below the surface and to have his heart sing in time with the waves.

As with all things that gave his world life, Miklan had destroyed that for him.

* * *

_ It had only been intended as a simple day trip, the two young brothers and a boatmaster from the docks, with a return well before the storm clouds could roll in and the skies could break open, unleashing the goddess’s wrath and bounty upon the coast. Perhaps they had lingered too long, or perhaps the goddess saw fit to smite their poor ship, but whatever the case, the skies had darkened before they made it back to land and the seas around them rose in agonized waves, turned by suddenly howling winds. _

_ With a dark glint in his eye as the crewman wrestled the sails, Miklan had offered Sylvain a sneer and a shove, thrusting him into the churning waters below. _

_ Sylvain had screamed, pleaded, cried desperately for Miklan to throw him a rope, anything, but his voice was lost among the crashes of thunder and roaring of waves. He wasn’t a weak swimmer by any means, but it was one thing to play in tranquil waters and another thing entirely to fight against the raging current. Sylvain pedaled and pedaled, gasping as he struggled to keep his head above the salty water, but his limbs grew heavier and heavier under the weight of the water as his frenzied alarm faded into fatigue. He kicked weakly as he began to slip under the water’s surface, consciousness fading. _

_ The last thing Sylvain could recall as he slowly sank was a warmth in his hands and a vague blue shimmer. _

~~~

_ Sylvain’s neck ached and he could feel sand crawling into unmentionable places, irritating his skin and sticking uncomfortably through his hair. His eyes were encrusted with the dried salt from the sea as well as the sleep from his rest, and Sylvain felt a brief spike of terror that he had gone blind before he scrubbed away the gunk with a sandy hand. As he squinted into the light of the sun just barely creeping over the horizon of deceptively-calm waters, Sylvain memories of the previous night filtered to the front of his mind unheeded. He gagged as he recalled sinking into the waves, briny water filling his lungs and pulling him down into its frigid depths, as though it was once again choking him. _

_ Was he dead? Was this a twisted form of the afterlife? _

_ Sylvain sat up and gently ran his hand through the sand he lay on. He had no idea where he was, in its own right a terrifying thought, but everything felt real. Sylvain hoped he wasn’t dead. The beach was silent other than a faint chirping and clicking sound, though there were no birds in sight and it sounded too… human? to be a bird. The sound grew slightly louder and was followed by a faint splash. _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a bright blue flash, but when he turned to look for it, it was gone except for faint ripples disturbing the clear surface of the water, leaving Sylvain to wonder if it had only been a figment of his imagination. He scrambled to the water’s edge, curious as the origin of the disturbance, but as he waded into the cool water, a clammy feeling crept up his legs and his lungs filled with imagined water, and Sylvain fell backwards, bowled over by the panic that had quickly spread through his body. _

_ After resting his head against the sand to steady himself, Sylvain stood and paced the beach, searching for any clue of how he had washed up onto the shore. There were faint tracks in the sand leading up to where he had lain, indentations where Sylvain’s legs had dragged and the impressions of… a large fish tail? The tail had gone as far as where Sylvain had lain before being turned around and dragging back to the ocean and disappearing into its depths. _

_ Sylvain had only just crouched down to examine the imprint more carefully when he heard shouting and rustling behind him, turning to look toward the sound. A man from his town (the blacksmith maybe?) had emerged from the trees and seemed to pause and stare at Sylvain, before he let out a relieved laugh and a strange call of “I won!”. He approached Sylvain and offered him a hand, a wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and words filled with the overeager promise of bringing Sylvain home. _

_ Sylvain warily took the man’s hand, mystery left unsolved before him, and allowed himself to be dragged stumbling back to Gautier. _

_ The man’s wild grin and the greedy glint of his beady eyes as Sylvain’s father handed him a small purse heavy with gold haunted his dreams as much as the suffocating feeling of water pressing in on all sides. _

* * *

Sylvain hummed cheerily to himself as he wandered down through the trees, leisurely ambling toward the beach that he had come to think of as his own over the years. It was a quiet, secluded spot, but while it wasn’t especially hidden from any nosy townspeople who might wish to wander beyond the fringes of the town, no one had ever bothered him. 

Almost surprisingly, his parents barely enquired as to his whereabouts on the days that Sylvain spent hours sitting on the beach, maybe reading, maybe just staring out into the ocean. So long as he dutifully attended tea with whichever charmingly bland noblewoman they attempted to set him up with that week and he didn’t make any little red-headed bastards who could try to usurp their title, his parents didn’t care much what he did. They’d long since given up on Sylvain embodying the epitome of a noble heir, and they had few other prospects for ensuring their house continued as Miklan had long been disinherited and Lady Gautier was not well enough to bear more children.

The waters had never been the same after that storm where Miklan had tried to drown him, but on calmer days, the peaceful emptiness of the sea was still enough to help drain Sylvain’s mind of the irritation and anger at his painfully cloying existence. 

He had never found an answer as to how he had washed up on the beach, nor what the heavy scale-laden tracks in the sand had meant. He had searched for clues, but by the time Sylvain had been able to find his way back to the beach, nearly two years later, any traces of what had taken place had long since washed away with the tide. 

There had been a single story in his family’s library claiming that the deep under the ocean lived fantastical creatures, half human and half fish, beautiful and terrible, that could draw men to their deaths with unearthly song. Their ethereal looks could bewitch any man, hiding teeth strong enough to effortlessly tear through flesh and a bloodthirsty desire to entrap any man who dared wander too far out to sea.

Ridiculous though the story was, it was also the only clue that Sylvain had found as to how he had been saved that terrible night. His savior hadn’t been cruel, nor had he been led to his death, but it would have taken a creature of human intelligence and dexterity to pull him to safety that night. 

As he did every time he came to this beach, Sylvain sat on his usual rock and stared out over the water, gently thumbing against the pages of the worn book he had brought along. He had long since given up on any real hope of the maybe-mermaid returning to the beach, but it was a comfort nonetheless to hope that he might meet his rescuer. He would pass the time, drawing scratchy impressions of what a mermaid might look like in his notebook, referenced from the fairy tales he carried with him. 

A muted splash to his left perked his interest as he doodled, and he lifted his head to see a humanoid head peak above the water in the distance and a body crawl onto a large flat rock somewhere beyond the low tide line. 

Sylvain couldn’t be sure if the deep blue glitter he was seeing was real or only a mirage from the bright reflection of the sun across the water’s surface. No song carried over the water, but Sylvain suddenly knew what the story meant when it said that men were entranced by the ethereal beauty of the mermaids. He could barely make out any features at this distance, and yet he knew the creature was more beautiful than any fair lady he had ever met.

He stumbled to his feet and stripped off his shoes, stumbling forward toward the water all the while. The sand was rough against his bare feet, filled with shards of old shells and pebbles, but Sylvain paid it no mind as he charged forward. The cold shock of the water as he entered it gave him pause, and the old nauseating feeling of being slowly pulled under filled him. Sylvain bit back the memories that threatened to overwhelm him and pushed forward into the chilly late-spring sea, taking deliberate step after deliberate step.

Just as he made it far enough to make out the shape of a wide tail lazily flipping on the rock in the distance, Sylvain felt his footing slip in the neck-deep water. He flailed wildly, but only seemed to pull himself further from the shore, peddling erratically toward open ocean. It had been far too long since Sylvain last swam, and in his panic to try not to be overwhelmed by memories of his first near-drowning experience, he was unable to regain control of his limbs. 

The sand should have been just below his feet, and yet Sylvain was unable to find it. He splashed wildly, gasping noisily as he struggled to keep his head above water. He felt his limbs growing heavy and his head fuzzy when strong arms grabbed him around the chest and hauled him back toward the beach, thrashing all the while.

Sylvain was thrown unceremoniously out onto the water’s edge, and as he gasped for breath, he was vaguely aware of an aggravated chirping and clicking berating him. He turned his head toward the sound and his eyes met with bright gold ones, frowning grumpily at him across the edge of the water. They were the most striking sight Sylvain had ever seen, complemented beautifully by dark, almost blue, hair, and porcelain pale skin. Sylvain stared, utterly besotted, and the mermaid (mer...man? Sylvain had never seen a woman with eyes so sharp or cunning, or a jawline so pronounced) eyes widened after a moment, and a light blush spread up to the tips of his ears before he let out a frustrated huff and a string of angry clicks and sharply turned away, diving back toward the deeper water. The merman’s glimmering navy tail splashed Sylvain as he leapt away, dousing him again.

At halfway back to the rock, a dark-haired head popped up above the water and cautiously turned back toward the beach, as though attempting to stealthily peer back at Sylvain. He propped himself on one side and waved lazily, endeared by the merman’s cute attempt to furtively take another look at him. The merman shot him another set of rudely-intoned clicks before he truly dove away.

Sylvain waited for several minutes, staring plaintively out toward the water, hoping the merman would make another reappearance, eventually giving up when the water unyieldingly only stared back at him and the chill from his wet clothes made him sneeze. Sylvain slowly picked himself up, wiping his still-wet hair away from his face, and walked back toward the belongings that had been left behind when he waded out into the water. 

Sylvain, too, threw one last look behind him as he made his way back toward the tree-lined path that would take him toward town.

He would definitely be back to see the beautiful savior who had already taken his heart captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost there! thanks to everyone who's read these silly ficlets! 
> 
> i know annette, mercedes, and ashe still haven't shown up but they will eventually after i get a chance to fully plan the fic.
> 
> <strike>also lol can you tell which disney princess gave inspiration for sylvain's backstory</strike> (i fully imagine him humming "Belle" but with vulgar lyrics in his head on his way to the beach)


	8. petals of tsubaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix once had Hanahaki. Key word, _once_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Bad Ending, Hanahaki
> 
> \----
> 
> **tw: blood**
> 
> apologies for inaccuracies with hanakotoba, i tried to corroborate things but flower meanings are beyond me. 
> 
> this is (to put it bluntly) a bad ending hanahaki AU where Sylvain missed his chance with Felix.
> 
> please excuse any errors.
> 
> ingrid features as a prominent character here.

For nearly nine years now, Felix has venomously proclaimed that he would never sacrifice himself for an unworthy cause, never to become like Glenn, honored more in death than in life. 

His eyes have always betrayed him, pools of profound pain, never quite able to meet others’ head-on. Always, forever filled with the anguish that twists itself into poisonous words and jagged edges.

Sylvain has always known Felix well enough to see that the caustic cruelty he bleeds is nothing more than a front, the reflection of what he truly feels laying distorted and disfigured behind years of self-imposed imprisonment and isolation. The pointed prick of the thorns of Felix’s temper is soothed by the kindness he hides within, the gentleness that struggles to blossom. 

Sylvain is lucky, unfailingly able to see past the barbs of harsh words and into the shards of the sensitive child Felix used to be. That he still is, beneath it all. Every blunt word and irritated growl hides three kind ones, drowned in suffocated concern, rendering him almost unable to breathe. 

Even when the war stretched endless and hazy, a dark mirage with no end in sight, with no leader to be found, Felix hunted for a king he long derided as a mindless beast, desperate for a way to save them both from the brink of losing themselves and each other, digging into his own soul and Dimitri’s for the childhood best friend he once had. 

(Sylvain aches to see Felix haunt Dimitri’s footsteps, too much like the ghosts he swears he’ll make their prince cast off. He’s too busy chasing the prince’s shadow to see who stands in his own.)

No matter how much he spits fire and hatred, Felix always fails to throw off the mantle of love that adorned his shoulders as a child. He’s only hardened it into a shell to hide beneath, too afraid of exposing soft underbelly if he uncurls and reaches out his hand.

Sylvain delights in poking out hissing responses, taunting out flashes of irritation laced with fond exasperation, trading gibes and begrudging affection, much in the way he once saw various others toy with the lazy feline beasts that roamed the halls of the monastery. Far from the only one who has ever likened Felix to a cat, Sylvain finds glee in watching the swishing, flicking tail, so close to tangible that it whispers in and out of existence behind Felix’s bristled poses, his stance half-offended and watchful, with eyes narrowed and cute, tiny would-be fangs bared. 

Felix answers every flirtatious wink and teasing overture that Sylvain throws him with the same flustered growl or digging elbow. 

If Felix looks more gaunt some days, more tired, Sylvain only frets over him with a gentle touch, pushing him away toward the sauna, toward rest, still always an arm’s length away. And if Felix accepts, it’s only because of his exhaustion and inability to fight how annoying Sylvain can be.

It works. It’s _them_. 

And yet.

* * *

Sylvain once fancifully entertained the idea that they could move beyond the traded jabs, that Felix might one day shed his spines, at least around Sylvain. That he could revel in the inky silkiness of Felix’s hair, cascading gently to his shoulders. Could lose himself in the depths of sharp gold eyes.

Sylvain had coughed up a single gardenia blossom, quickly disposed of and buried, drowned in the scent and heat of countless women. He had not coughed up another, the smiles he always adorned instead slashing brutally across his face as though carved there, misshapen and grotesque, his body’s compensation for the blossoms he could not allow to grow.

Not that it mattered. They both had duties to king and country that they had to one day fulfill. 

And anyway, Felix had always, always loved their king.

* * *

The disgust in Felix’s eyes when Sylvain sidles up and throws an arm over his shoulder is blistering, and he reels back quickly when Felix goes for one of his swords. Though Felix’s obvious irritation at his flirting has never slowed Sylvain down, this unbridled anger is new. Dangerous, almost frightening, and an anxious prickle makes its way down the back of Sylvain’s neck. Felix does not ever respond _ well _ to Sylvain’s flirting, but never has his frustration turned to downright loathing.

“Keep your filthy hands off me, whore.” 

This sword is real, flashing steel, christened in the blood of countless Imperial enemies, pointing unerringly at Sylvain’s throat. 

Sylvain attempts to sidestep the blade, but it tracks him, Felix’s gaze as cutting and unforgiving as the weapon in his hand. After a moment, Sylvain retreats, hands raised and expression sheepish, and the sword hangs in the air, an unspoken threat. For a long, uncomfortable moment, silence reigns, the keen edge glittering dangerously in the sunlight. 

Felix humphs and turns on his heel, resheathing his weapon as he stalks away, not bothering with a backward glance. 

Before Sylvain can make the first step to chase down his best friend, ask him what has his knickers in a twist, laugh off the heaviness of Felix’s threat to cut him down like a rabid dog, a heaving cough wracks through his frame, his armor clattering with the force of it. He chokes on the soft, velvet, cloying taste of flower petals, forcing their way out of his lungs.

He hasn’t thought about the disease, convinced himself that he’s cured himself of it, fully repressed all the feelings away.

For all the tenderness hidden away beneath roughness and spikes, even Felix cannot love him, not when his heart is so clearly dedicated elsewhere. And so, Sylvain does not, cannot, will not love Felix either.

His body spites him with another cough.

Sylvain has never been very good at lying to himself.

His hand comes away clutching dark purple petals, unfamiliar and daunting, spilling over onto the ground as his pained and frazzled body trembles, shaking the unknown flowers out of his hands. He sinks slowly to his knees as he fights off the last residual quakes. 

He heaves a breath. (His chest hurts, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the coughing or because Felix walked away. Probably both.)

Sylvain can still chase down Felix, put this together, stitch the facade back at the seams. He doesn’t need the unnecessary feelings for his best friend, just needs to be there for him. Whatever he did that made Felix so angry that the only thing left was revulsion and fury, he can fix it.

He has to.

Felix deserves that much. 

Sylvain stands, brushing the petals away. It’s a pity that they’re spit-slick and flecked with blood. In any other circumstances, the rich, deep tone would be beautiful. Striking and powerful, almost deadly, in a way that’s almost too reminiscent of Felix’s own person. 

Pocketing a petal to ask Dedue about later, Sylvain maps a path through the monastery, careful to include all of Felix’s most likely locations. If he’s still angry, he may or may not try to work off the stress in the training hall, followed by a relaxing soak in the sauna. If he’s sought out Dimitri, they’ll be in the knight’s hall or the dining hall. If he’s looking for an easy distraction or comfort, he could be in the cathedral with Annette, pretending not to hum along to the choir’s practice. And if he’s absolutely determined not to see Sylvain, he’ll have locked himself in his room, lights turned off as he broods.

But Felix turns out not to be in any of those places, because Sylvain passes him talking to Ingrid near the old classrooms on his way to the training hall. 

Felix’s back is turned, his posture slightly stiffer than usual, clearly aggravated. Something in Sylvain’s gut clenches at the recognition that he’s the likely cause. 

Ingrid spots him, and her eyes widen as she subtly shakes her head, shooing him away over Felix’s shoulder. He raises his arm and waves, grin crooked and a little weak. Sylvain has never paid much mind to Ingrid’s lectures, and he’s not about to start now.

Sylvain quickly corrects his smile, falling back with ease to the familiarity of the light tone he pushes to the forefront, the only thing he should focus on. “Felix! Ingrid! I was just looking for you two. Imagine my surprise, neither of you in the training hall or dining hall!” 

Felix turns to him with a sneer, giving him a bored once-over. 

“You have some blood on your face. Try not to get caught by too many angry brothers or fathers on your wasteful escapades.” 

The cool indifference in Felix’s voice is a sharp contrast to the dark contempt of before, but Sylvain doesn’t like it any better. He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, somewhat abashed.

Right. Why he needed to find Felix.

“Listen, Felix… I’m not sure exactly what I did to make you so angry at me, but I promise you I’ll make it up to you. Let me take you out to get some of your favorite smoked meats! Or that one spicy treat you like!” Sylvain extends an arm toward Ingrid. “The three of us can go together, just some old friends hanging out, out and about in town to visit their favorite merchants!” 

Felix looks at him, expression still bland and disinterested. “No thanks. I can’t speak for Ingrid, but I have better things to do.” He turns away again, stepping deliberately away from Sylvain for the second time that day. “Goodbye, Sylvain.” 

“Wait! Please, Felix. Tell me what’s wrong.” Sylvain lunges forward to grab Felix’s retreating figure, only to be blocked by Ingrid.

“Please, Sylvain. Leave him be. It’s for the better.”

The unpleasant sensation of a tickle crawling up his throat discomfits Sylvain as he watches Felix’s retreating back. The cough forces its way out, bringing with it two yellow tulip blossoms, stained almost orange by the blood coating them.

Ingrid offers a comforting hand on his shoulder as he hacks out the blooms, tears stinging his eyes. 

“I probably shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but you didn’t do anything wrong.” Ingrid pauses. “For once.” 

She offers Sylvain a sad smile as he struggles to catch his breath again, gently patting his back. “But… you should get used to this version of Felix. I don’t think the two of you can go back to what you had.” 

Sylvain sends her a panicked glance, a sneaking sense of dread creeping into his subconscious. Felix didn’t… he wouldn’t — 

She looks away. “He didn’t want any of us to tell you, but… what you’re suffering from now? He had it too. He was so close to dying… we told him to just take the cure. It got rid of the flower disease, but Felix, he...”

“He’ll never be able to feel anything for the person the infection was removed for.” Sylvain’s voice is rough, quiet, burdened by the weight of what Felix had done and his own foolishness.

The last few months are strikingly clear in hindsight. Felix’s lethargy, his constant and sudden excuses to leave, his pained looks when Sylvain’s flirting became especially silly.

“Goddess. I guess I got what I always dreaded.” He sighs out a shuddering breath, throat threatening to expel more blossoms. He shoots Ingrid a questioning look. “It really wasn’t His Highness?”

Ingrid’s expression is torn between irritated fondness and tiredness. “Felix cares a great deal for His Highness, far more than he’s willing to admit, but there’s only ever been one person who’s always been there for him, always teased him beyond his limits, and tried to show Felix that he’s cared for despite everything else."

She gives him a slight smirk.

"Despite everything, I will not miss his tirades about all the times you flirted with him and never meant it.” 

Sylvain twirls one of the tulips before shredding it, the petals fluttering nonsensically around him. 

“I always meant it.”

They stand, lost in their own thoughts, Sylvain plucking the petals one by one from the blossom, ripping them out with more force than strictly necessary.

Ingrid speaks up at last.

“What are you going to do? If you’re coughing up full blossoms, you’re not too far behind where Felix was.” Her tense posture and wringing hands bely her steady and concerned tone. She's actually scared.

Sylvain tries to imagine life as a total stranger to Felix, their only interactions cursory and forced, endured only out of convenience to their friends. A yawning void where emotion should go, compounding with the emptiness that’s always under Sylvain’s skin. 

The thought alone forces another cough from Sylvain, no Felix presence required. 

His hand pulls away when the spell ends, wiping away the blood that might soon be ever-present on his lips. 

There’s only one blossom this time. He knows this one. Knows what it means. A red camellia. 

_ Perishing with grace_.

That’s probably enough answer for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Gardenia (kuchinashi) - secret love
>   * Black lily (kuroyuri) - love, curse
>   * Yellow tulip - fruitless love
>   * Camellia (tsubaki) - in love, perishing with grace
> 
> that's a wrap! (and only... 3 weeks late lol) 
> 
> thank you to everyone who read!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! any constructive criticism is appreciated <3


End file.
